Those who were left behind
by Aafje98
Summary: Some days are hard for those who had stay, others are unbearable [spoilers for Magi chapter 317 and perhaps for Sinbad no Bouken]


**Sorry I haven't written anything in a while, but chapter 317 left me with a lot of feelings... So I decided to write something to help me deal with my feelings (it probably makes no more sense once the chapter is actually translated)**

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Spartos hated this day. They all hated it. Perhaps, for some it felt like a normal day as any other, but to those who had lived in Sindria for a long time, this day was a hard one. It was the day that had once been known as a tragedy. A tragedy for those who had been there on that terrible day.

Pisti hadn't been there, she couldn't know. She had been told the stories of what happened, but she could never get a grasp of how terrible it had been. Hell, even Spartos couldn't think of what it must've looked like. He was only a young boy, still living in Sasan when the news reached his ears. There had been death everywhere. Bodies impaled on sticks, burning corpses and young children impaled by arrow. And there some of the most important founders of Sindria, had found their end. Along those had been his brother. Mystras. The person he had admired so much… gone in an instant. He had never heard of him in all those years. Except for some letters saying he was well and that he was having fun with Sinbad, seeing the world and fighting for a dream he believed in. Never could he see this tragedy coming.

His father didn't want to tell him at first, but Spartos hadn't been a stupid child. He could tell something was wrong when Darius fell silent as he read the letter that rested in his hands. His face had paled, his eyes widened in shock. His hands trembled as he lowered the piece of paper, not able to shed a single tear. Spartos want to ask what was going on. But Darius already spoke. Softly, his voice breaking at some parts.

"There was a war… Spartos, your brother is no longer with us."

He couldn't believe it, but by the way his father had reacted he knew it wasn't a lie. His father wasn't someone to joke about these kind of things. Tears started to stream down his face. Only a few in the beginning, but soon there was no use stopping them. It couldn't be true… Mystras couldn't be gone that easily. He had promised to return one day, to show him the world. To teach him a lot of things. And Spartos had wanted to show him that he had become stronger. He no longer was the crybaby who had begged for his brother to stay in Sasan. He knew Mystras was happy when he could finally travel the world. But right now he wished he had succeeded as a child, that he could have kept Mystras to stay behind. He was alone… the duties of the oldest son would now fall on his shoulders. And he hated it. It was too sudden.

He didn't stop crying for days, and didn't stop mourning for months. And now he was here. Standing at that place once again, the place where the final memories of his brother lay.

" _To the spirits of those who died during the foundation of Sindria"_

Spartos clenched the lily in his hand. It wasn't just his brother, there were hundreds of people who hadn't been able to watch the country of Sindria in its full glory. They had never been able to see the island, only the bare land of Parthevia where they had been slaughtered like animals. Perhaps that was one of the saddest parts. They had given their lives for a country which they had never seen completed. People were happy now, it was almost as if nothing bad had ever happened to them.

He sighed. In front of the grave were already a dozen flowers. Ja'far had probably visited in the morning, just before he had to drown himself in work again. Spartos knew that the king had told all of them to take the day off, to take time for themselves and figure out their own thoughts. But knowing Ja'far he was better off with his paperwork than his own thoughts. He would only blame himself for the deaths, for not seeing it coming, for not stopping it before things got bad.

"I already thought I'd see you here." Spartos looked up at the familiar voice of Hinahoho who had appeared behind him.

"I needed to be alone." He said, lowering his gaze as he looked at the lily in his hand.

The giant nodded. "I can understand. It must be hard for you. It's hard for all of us on this day. He was a good kid." Spartos felt a hand on his shoulder. Biting his lip and crushing the flower in his hand, he stayed silent.

"I can't believe he's gone. It has been years already, but I can never get used to it. That feeling of loneliness." The knight responded after some time.

"I know how you feel. Every day I wish it would only be a dream and that I can see my lovely wife again, smiling and taking care of the kids. But she's gone, she will never return."

That was right, Hinahoho knew what it was like. Even more. Rurumu had left behind so much. She had been the mother to many and taught the most important people of the country how to rule. Her death had left an unfillable hole in the hearts of Sindria's people. Ja'far, Sinbad, Hinahoho, Masrur and not to mention all of her children who lost their mother all of a sudden.

"Sometimes…" Spartos muttered as his shoulders dropped, "I wish he never left Sasan. It's only a selfish wish, but I like to believe that he would still be here that way."

He noticed there wasn't much left of the flower he had been holding. Its stem was broken, the leafs started to fall off. So much for a memorial flower.

Hinahoho's grip on his shoulder tightened, causing Spartos to look at him from the corner of his eyes.

"I have done the same many times." He said, looking down at the grave in front of them, "I thought about what would have happened if I hadn't dragged Rurumu with me. But I realized I could never live without her. She gave me and our country happiness, gave me wonderful kids and was a blessing in my life. No matter what you would have done, you couldn't have kept your brother in Sasan. He had wanted to escape, even if the only way were to be death."

Hinahoho was right, Spartos knew that. If Sinbad hadn't been there, then Mystras would've died much earlier. Killed by his own father because he didn't want to listen. Spartos closed his eyes and chrouched down to lay the broken flower in front of the stone.

"Let's go back." Hinahoho said, wrapping an arm around the smaller man when he rose again, "Sharrkan and Pisti are worried about you. Go out and have a drink, continue to live like he had wanted you to."

Spartos nodded, turning his back to the edge of the cliff as he walked back to the palace. In the soft sunlight there was a figure watching over him, smiling.

" _It was meant to be like this, so please keep on living your life the way you want."_


End file.
